If Anything Were to Happen to You
by Aragarna
Summary: Of fears and friends. A sleepless night set shortly after 4x10.
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes: **A huge thank you to **Ansel**, who so kindly proof-read the story. This story is posted today in honor of the Burke-Caffrey Day !

**If Anything Were to Happen to You**

**Prologue**

He is on the shore of the Hudson River, alone in the empty space. It's cold, very cold. There is no sun and the atmosphere is grey and thick, surreal. Very few sounds are coming from the city. Everything seems muffled and blurry.

A man is standing in the distance. Neal cannot see his face clearly, yet, he knows who this is. This is James Bennett, his father. Contrary to the few other times they met, James is wearing a dark, tailored suit, and a fedora. Dressed like this, he looks just like Neal. He is an exact copy of Neal. For some reason, this realization gives Neal a chill. Under the shadow of the hat, all Neal can see are sparkling and cold blue eyes, and he wonders for a second if his eyes are that cold too. There are so many things Neal would like to talk to him about, so many questions he wants – needs – to ask. At least, Neal would like his father to look at him, but James doesn't seem to notice his presence.

Facing James, stands Peter. Neal doesn't know how Peter got there. He doesn't remember seeing him arriving at the scene. Face closed, his expression is unreadable. Neal knows that doesn't mean good for his interlocutor. He is wearing his favorite suit, a white shirt, but no tie. Neal frowns. That doesn't make sense. He doesn't see any badge attached to his belt either. Neal feels an uneasiness slowly falling down upon him. There is something wrong with this image of Peter.

Like James, Peter seems absolutely oblivious of Neal's presence. His attention is totally directed toward James. They are watching each other from a respectful distance.

Neal would like to come closer, but he doesn't seem to be able to move. He wants to call, but no sounds are coming from his mouth. He stays where he is, watching from a distance, outside the scene happening in front of him.

Neal refocuses his attention on his father – and his heart skips a beat. James is now pointing a gun directly at Peter. He is holding the deadly weapon with both hands, determined not to miss his target. Neal feels it, knows it. His father is about to shoot. The fear is compressing his chest. He tries to reach out for Peter, but he is paralyzed. He screams but no one hears.

There is no sound, but there is no doubt. The bullet hits Peter in the chest. The impact makes Peter stagger and he takes one step back, trying to regain his balance. Neal is now overwhelmed by fear and incomprehension. How can this be happening? Why didn't Peter react to the sight of the gun? Why didn't he shoot back? Why doesn't he have his gun?

Peter's legs give in, and he starts to fall, slowly, as if in slow-motion. His fall seems to last forever and a heavy weight crashes Neal's chest as he watches his friend go down.

Peter is lying on the ground, and Neal is at his side. Blood. There is blood everywhere. Peter's blood. It's coming from Peter's chest. Neal presses his hands on the wound, but the blood doesn't stop pouring out. Neal feels it pooling under his palms, leaking between his fingers. It is thick and warm. The blood is a shade of scarlet that reminds Neal of one particular paint he loves. It has the same shine. For a moment, Neal's thoughts drift toward a more peaceful scene of him at his easel, painting. But the paint is all red, red like Peter's blood and instantly he is back at his partner's side.

Neal looks at his face. Strangely, he doesn't seem to be in pain. Neal catches Peter's glance. All he can read in his friend's eyes is sadness and disappointment. Neal cannot detach his eyes from that look. He can see the accusation, and he knows Peter is right and he, Neal, is wrong, even though he cannot remember exactly why. He can't think clearly. The guilt twists his stomach, the despair crushes his lungs. He can't breathe. His head is spinning. All he can see are Peter's eyes, and red. Everything is red.

Suddenly he hears a voice. It's Peter's. But it doesn't fit. There is no anger. On the contrary, it's full of joy, and relief.

"_So damn good to see you…"_


	2. Part One

**Part One**

Neal jolts awake. It takes him a few minutes to adjust to reality. He is seated, in his bed, in his room. It's the middle of the night. He feels the drops of sweat along his spine, his temples. He shivers. It was a nightmare. A horribly vivid nightmare.

Neal lies back and takes a moment to steady his breath and calm down. It takes him several long minutes before he can regain his composure. Finally he pushes away the covers, and jumps out of bed.

* * *

Peter takes another look at the alarm clock. 3:11 it says. He sighs heavily. He can't find sleep. He is too worried. The nightmares are back. They had stopped after Cape Verde, but now they are haunting him all over again. The scenery is different, the origin of the danger is, too, but the fear is the same. So is the outcome.

Neal is with Sam – no, James – his father. They are at the deep end of a dark alley. They are out of Peter's reach. Peter would like to be by Neal's side, but they wouldn't let him in. James is reaching for something in his jacket. Peter runs. But he is too far away, too late. James pulls out a gun and shoots Neal. There is nothing Peter can do. He watches him fall, slowly, to the ground. When he finally reaches him, Neal is lying on his back, a bullet in the forehead. Exactly like Jimmy Burger.

Peter hadn't thought much about his old CI in recent years. He remembers telling his story to Neal once, what seems like ages ago. The death of his first CI had been a painful shock for the young agent he was then. Peter had felt responsible, even though everyone kept telling him it wasn't his fault. _They are criminals, they live a life of crime_, he had been told. Jimmy was just a CI, they weren't particularly close, and over the years, Peter had managed to forgive himself, to let Jimmy Burger go.

But with Neal, it was completely different. Neal was so much more than his CI… Neal was a partner, a member of his team, and he was also his friend. Peter couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to him. He _had_ to protect him.

Peter feels his chest tighten with guilt. It's been a bit more than a week now, since he made the mistake of believing that Neal hadn't kept his word. He had hurt his friend. He wished he could go back in time, erase that day. When he tries to rationalize, he thinks that his gut instinct was right, that he had to check on Sam, who wasn't Sam. But his heart doesn't buy it. It doesn't erase the hurt look on Neal's face, and the fact that ultimately, Peter jumped to a false conclusion and acted like a child. He was right to look into Sam, but he was absolutely wrong to do this behind Neal's back. The truth is, he just wanted to help Neal, protect him, keep him safe.

Peter stares at the ceiling. He'd rather have an angry but safe Neal. But that's not how things work. Neal is a grown man. You can't force him to live safe. If only Neal would let Peter help him.

Peter feels helpless and terrified. What if he can't save Neal?

Things are more or less back to normal at work, but Neal doesn't come by anymore. Peter doesn't want to push him. He thinks that with time, his friend will understand, and forgive him. And with the addition of James in the picture, they haven't found much time to work things out. He knows that his friend needs space and time to process his own feelings regarding the return of his father. Neal had called in sick, and since his expertise wasn't essential for the current case, Peter had agreed, despite the unsettling feeling of letting Neal deal with his father alone. The young man had desperately asked for a private life, and after the recent events, Peter didn't want to disappoint him again. So, he had convinced himself that if anything had been wrong, Neal would have called. At least, that's what Peter hopes. But the fact is, he hasn't seen him since the FBI panel and he doesn't even know what happened after he told him that Sam was actually his long lost father. This went so completely against all of his instincts. It takes every bit of Peter's willpower not to go to Neal's place and confront Sam – James. In the meantime, he is left with all the worse case scenarios he can imagine.

A frantic knock on the front door rouses him from his dark trail of thoughts. Peter frowns. Damn late – or early – for a visit. A quick glance at Elizabeth tells him she is too deep asleep to hear anything. Delicately, he pulls himself out of bed. He grabs his gun and heads downstairs.

The street lights cast the shadow of his visitor through the glass of the door and the figure standing on the other side of the curtains is unmistakable. It's Neal. The recognition of his friend triggers two opposite feelings at the same time in Peter. There is a quantum of happiness to see his friend finally coming back for a visit like he used to. But the hope of a friendly visit is overridden by the obvious fact that even for Neal, 3 a.m. is a very unlikely time, and concern settles in.

Peter puts his weapon on the coffee table before quietly opening the door.

"Neal, what-" he starts. But he is cut off by his partner throwing himself at his neck. This is so unexpected that it takes Peter a couple of seconds to react. Neal has buried his head on Peter's shoulder and holds him very tight. Peter feels him shivering against his body.

Slowly, Peter wraps his arms around Neal.

"Neal, what's wrong?" he asks, more and more worried, as he pats him gently on the back, trying to calm him.

"Don't go, Peter, please don't go."

Peter pushes Neal back slightly, forcing his partner to look at him without breaking his hold.

"I'm not going anywhere, Neal. I'm here," he says softly, "I'll always be here."

Guiding his friend toward the kitchen island, he forces him to sit on a chair, before filling and handing him a glass of water. Neal's look is all ruffled, from his totally unruly hair, to the untidy t-shirt he is wearing under his jacket. But what worries Peter the most are Neal's daunting gaze and extremely pale face.

Neal grabs the glass and slowly drinks all its contents before putting it back on the table. Now that he seems more in control of himself, he looks embarrassed, staring at the empty glass between his hands.

Peter sits on the opposite side of the table.

"Tell me what happened."

Neal shrugs, suddenly defensive. "Nothing. Nothing happened. Maybe I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry I woke you up…"

He stands. Peter can't let him go, not now.

"Don't go!" Neal turns around and looks at him, visibly surprised by the pressing tone. "Please, stay." It's almost a plea. Neal slowly sits back down. He looks right at Peter this time. Peter clears his throat.

"Neal, talk to me, please."

So Neal finally talks. "Peter, we need to… stay together."

Peter nods. "And share everything," he adds.

It's Neal's turn to nod his agreement. There is no anger in his eyes, yet Peter can't help but feel a knot in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Neal. I'm sorry I lost faith in you the other day. I didn't mean to hurt you. I should have talked to you…"

"We can't undo what's been done, Peter. I guess I could have talked to you too."

They look at each other for a moment, an embarrassed smile showing on each of their faces.

Finally, Neal speaks again. "I'm sorry for the boxing match. How was your jaw afterward?" he adds with a small smirk.

"Not any worse than yours, I guess." Peter retorts with a smile.

A shadow passes across Neal eyes. "And… I didn't mean what I said… you know…"

Peter shrugs it off. "I know. You were angry. It's okay. Just so you know, I never put Ellen's name in the reports. We ran a search on all the inhabitants of the Roosevelt Island building and one came back flagged. But I didn't mention it."

Neal looks up at Peter, surprised. His shoulders slightly droop but he finally seems to relax a little.

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know. I actually didn't really think about it. Thank you, Peter."

Peter gives another shrug. "I'm not trying to clear my name. I just thought it might help you to know that, whoever found her, it was neither my fault, nor yours."

"I'm still not completely sure about that, but yes, it does help a little." Sadness veils Neal's blue eyes. Peter reaches out across the table to put his hand on Neal's.

"I know what you're thinking, Neal. But I also know Ellen loved you. She was happy to see you again, after all these years. Don't beat yourself up with regrets."

A shine appears in Neal's eyes as a shy smile forms on his lips. He stands up, takes a few steps and finally stops in front of the back door, absent-mindedly looking through its window. He brushes at a tear with the back of his sleeve.

Peter gives him a few minutes before speaking again. "We'll find them, Neal. Together, we'll bring them to justice. I am sincerely glad that you're here. Even if it's an odd hour for a visit..."

"You know, even if I wanted to, I can't cut you out. My subconscious keeps telling me that you…" Neal voice trails off. He suddenly looks very vulnerable. In those moments, he seems so young that he doesn't look a day older than he did when they first met almost 10 years ago.

Neal remains silent for a while, staring at an invisible point in front of him, but obviously seeing something else. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper.

"I keep having these nightmares where you… die. James kills you and… I can't do anything." He suddenly turns around, looking for Peter's gaze. "Peter, if anything were to happen to you - "

"You couldn't live with it."


	3. Part Two

**Part Two**

Peter's words, said in a murmur, leave Neal speechless. His eyes widen as the realization hits him. He tries to catch his friend's eyes, but it's Peter's turn to be fascinated by the empty glass.

"Peter?"

Peter finally looks up at him. "I'm having nightmares too."

Neal doesn't know what to say. He suddenly feels bad for having been so mad at Peter, his friend, who only cares too much about him. This is something so new in Neal's life, that someone would really, sincerely, and deeply care about him, that he has a hard time adjusting. More than that, Peter feels responsible for him. Peter protects him. Neal is not sure where that need to protect his own comes from, nor if he deserves it, but Peter has made Neal part of his family. Like any member of his family, he would protect him at all cost, cross the Atlantic and risk his job to bring him back, if he has to. A sour thought crosses Neal's mind. Peter is a better father than his own father… Neal lets go a bitter snort.

It makes Peter frown.

"You act more like a father than my father does." Neal explains. In a second Peter's expression switches instantly to focused agent mode. He doesn't say anything, but his inquiring look is eloquent.

"He conned me, Peter! He lied to his own son! I told him I was looking for my father and he - … He said he wasn't!" Neal starts pacing in a circle, unable to contain his rage.

"So, did you tell him that you knew he was your father?"

Neal sighs angrily. "Yeah, well, he said he wanted to protect me."

"Maybe that's true…" Peter tries.

"Oh right, like lying to me would protect me."

Neal stops and faces Peter. Catching his mischievous pout, Neal can't help a small grin.

"Please don't say it."

"Okay… I'm not saying it." Peter agrees, with the most innocent look. "So where is he now?"

"Monday."

"Do you trust him?"

The million dollar question.

Neal turns toward the window once more. He doesn't know what to think anymore. For years, he has hated his father with all his heart. He had abandoned them, a fragile wife with a young child. It was to protect them, he had said. But didn't he let them down when he started dealing with the mob? If he had stayed on the straight and narrow, he wouldn't have jeopardized his family. When you have a family, you are responsible for them.

And what if he was telling the truth? What if he was framed and was really the hero little Neal and his mother wanted him to be? But if he was innocent, why hide himself from his son, why pretend to be a dead former cop? Why hadn't he tried to clear his name until now? Why now?

Neal had asked himself those questions over and over again in the past few days. And when he confronted his father, his answers were evasive at best, deflecting most of the time.

"No. I don't trust him," Neal finally says, "Not yet."

As his gaze casually scanned the Burkes' little garden, he catches something odd. A huge circular object cast it's shadow on the patio.

"Peter, what is _that_?"

"What is what?" Peter asks, confused, as he stands and comes to look through the window.

"That, umm… sort of giant donut in your garden."

"Oh that…" Peter says very seriously, "it is called a Rai stone. It is from Micronesia."

Neal looks incredulously at his friend. A giant stone from a remote island in Peter's garden?! That doesn't fit _at all_.

Peter bursts into laughter. "It's a gift from Mozzie."

Neal chuckles. Now that fits better. "How generous of him. You know, I'm feeling a bit jealous –"

"You want it? I can give it to you. As a gift, right now, take it." Peter says hastily.

Neal laughs. "Nah, I'm afraid it might be too heavy for my balcony," he deadpans, "and it might hurt Mozzie's feelings, you know, seeing you're unloading his gifts. Still, he doesn't make _me_ any gifts."

"Well, you _have_ hurt his feelings. He offered you a treasure, and you turned it down."

Neal glances at Peter sideways, for a second unsure of the turn of the conversation, but Peter's eyes are sparkling with mischief.

"You'll never let it go, will you?"

"Never." Peter says with a large smile.

"And so now you're Mozzie's new best friend. You must be flattered." Neal replies, gesturing toward the stone.

"Very."

They stay there for a while, next to each other, in silence, elbows almost touching. Neal knows he should probably go home, let Peter get back to sleep, but he is reluctant to leave. Here, at the Burkes', by Peter's side, he feels safe. The road ahead is still long, tortuous, and probably dangerous, but for now, he has finally found a hint of peace.

Peter's voice takes him out of his reverie.

"I wouldn't mind a drink. Do you want anything?"

"Wouldn't mind either. Something strong."

"Do you drink whisky? I have that old scotch that I've been saving for a special occasion. 15 year old single malt Aberlour."

"Oh Peter I'm impressed. I didn't know you were a scotch connoisseur," Neal appreciates, "but I am hardly a special occasion."

"At least you can't deny you are special." Peter says, grinning.

Neal flashes his best smile. "In that case, I'll take your offer."

Peter goes to the kitchen while gesturing Neal to go sit on the sofa, and comes back with a golden beverage and 2 glasses. He takes a seat next to Neal and pours the whisky into the glasses.

"To special friends," he says as he takes a glass and hands the other to Neal.

Neal takes a moment to think of a good answer. "To the family we choose," he says as they clink their glasses, getting a fond smile from Peter.

Neal takes a sip of the Scottish beverage. The burn is warm and radiates throughout his body, relaxing him.

Peter puts his glass on the table and turns a very serious face toward Neal

"We'll keep it off record, as best and as long as we can. We'll have to make it official at some point, but for now, we'll do it your way," he states.

"But Peter – "

"Just listen to me. This is big. We need to be careful. We are working a very thin line here. One misstep might have very serious consequences for both of us. So, first things first, we need to know what we are getting into."

Neal nods. "We need to find Ellen's files."

"Exactly. For now, all they know – whoever _they_ are – is that we are after them. What they don't know is how much we know."

"Which actually isn't much for now."

"They don't know about the tape," Peter points out.

"So they don't know about the locket."

"We have a lead that they don't have. We need to keep it that way."

Neal frowns. "But how do we get our hands on the locket? If we put in a request for Ellen's personal belongings, they'll find out."

"That's where the "off the book" fits in."

Neal tilts his head, surprised. "You want me to break into the Marshal's building?"

"No."

"James said they don't know about me. I can do it, I won't get caught, Peter."

"Neal, we still don't know for sure if we can trust James… If they indeed don't know about you, let's keep it that way. Whatever the truth is, whatever your father's involvement is, you're a target. We can't take _any_ risks. "Off the books" means we take extra care. We have to assume they already have eyes on us. We need to stay above any reproach from now on. This is _very_ important. If they want to take us down, they'll use any chance they can get. We must not give them any leverage. We are already in a tight spot, we need to get back in the higher-ups' good graces. My job is vital for both of us. If I lose my job, I won't be able to protect you. Do you understand?"

Neal nods while Peter continues. "No more shenanigans, we'll be perfect boy scouts."

"I promise, Peter, no shenanigans, everything by the book."

"Good. And we'll keep our own investigation invisible."

"Okay, but I don't understand, if we don't go through official channels but I don't break in, how are we gonna find the locket?"

"Look, I don't know yet. We'll find a solution. I promised you we'll find Ellen's killers and we will. I swear I'll trust you this time. But you have to make me a promise in return."

Neal knows that Peter doesn't say empty words. His friend means every single of them. Peter isn't a conman, he doesn't try to hide his emotions and Neal can read him like an open book. The slight hesitation in the tone, the tentative smile and the hope in his earnest eyes tell him that Peter will definitely do his best to keep his word.

"Okay," he says simply.

"Whatever crazy ideas pop into your head, whatever new piece of information you get, related to Ellen's murder or the corrupted officials, you'll share it with me. And most of all, please, do not get yourself into trouble."

"Share everything, stick together, and keep safe. That's a promise," Neal said, hoping Peter would see his own honesty and be truly convinced. "On one condition," he adds, making Peter tense instantly, "you have to make me the same promise."

Peter relaxes and gives Neal another fond smile, "Of course. Share everything, stick together, and keep safe. I swear. So… Should we make a blood pact?"

Neal laughs. "Nah. I'll just trust you."

"Good," Peter answers, "I trust you, too."

Smiling, they toast again.

Neal feels his eyelids getting more and more heavy. So is his head. But his heart is lighter than it had been in days. He tries to stay focused, but his mind is blurry. Slowly, he is drifting into sleep. It might be the whisky. Or maybe it's the regained peacefulness of his soul. It could also be the lack of sleep. More probably it is a combination of all those elements. Neal lets his eyes close. He is barely aware of Peter taking his glass from his hand and unfolding a blanket on his lap. Neal falls asleep.


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

A ray of light is making its way between the curtains, chasing away the darkness of night and announcing the morning. Elizabeth slowly emerges from a heavy sleep. Turning around under the covers, she is surprised to see she is alone in the bed. Concerned, she gets up and puts her robe on.

She is worried about Peter. He has talked to her about the clash between him and Neal. Peter feels really bad about it. She has faith that they will make up in no time. They care too much for each other to stay away for too long. There is nothing to worry about here. No, what concerns her is the storm they are heading into, those events and forces they can't control. It seems much bigger than anything they've been through before. Peter hasn't said anything about his nightmares, but she knows they are back. She knows what Neal means to Peter and she hopes with all her heart that when the dust finally settles, both men will come out unscathed.

She goes and checks the bathroom, but Peter isn't there, so she heads downstairs.

"Hon?"

What she sees makes her stop on the last step.

Neal and Peter are lolled on the sofa, sleeping soundly under a shared blanket. Their heads are tilted toward each other, almost touching.

There are two empty glasses and a bottle of whisky on the table.

El smiles. See, she was right, they can't live without one another.

FIN.


End file.
